


Shameless

by TheReadingWriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21644959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReadingWriter/pseuds/TheReadingWriter
Summary: Draco is struck by a sudden illness that catches him by surprise, until he learns that he isn't who he thought he was and the 'illness' isn't an illness at all....
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson, Ron Weasley/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	Shameless

**Author's Note:**

> this is for you mari, i know you'll read it! we miss you!

Draco awoke with a gasp.

He needed a few moments to regain his senses, and realize where he was. Slowly, it came back to him that he was in his bed, sleeping quite peacefully, until a violent lurching in his stomach had woken him up. He heaved himself into a sitting position, taking deep breaths. He found it odd that he hadn't dreamt anything at all--rather, he'd floated through a thick haze in his sleep, yet another twist of his stomach pulled him scornfully back into the present moment though. He slowly eased to his feet, trying to even his breathing, a light sheen of sweat sheathing his pale skin as he felt a faint throbbing start at the very base of his skull. He made it into his bathroom, and rubbed the crabs of slumber from his gray eyes, looking into the mirror hanging above his sink. He was flushed, a pink tint to him from the steady heat that pulsed behind his eyelids. Draco seemed to be working up a fever of some sort, and he sighed vehemently. Letting the faucet run he splashed some cold water over his face, though it did little to ease the pit in his stomach, the blinking dizziness fogging through his head, the prickle of his skin.

"The hell?" He muttered irritably, sleep ridden brain finally catching up to the present moment. This has certainly never happened to him before, Draco wasn't sure what to make of it. He felt overall ill, in a way that wasn't unlike the few other times he'd fallen sick before, yet distinctly different in a way Draco couldn't put his finger on. This felt... _bigger._ As if there was _more_ to come. While he continued to shuffle around his bathroom, reaching for a towel to wipe his face dry, he realized with an acute jolt his entire body had been riddled with twinges and little stitches since he'd forced himself out of his bed. He grimaced as a mute ache weaved into his muscles, he felt so stiff, especially the muscles of his lower back and arse, oddly enough. Steeling himself, he headed out of the bathroom back to his bedroom, determined to sleep this wretched night off. Surely whatever bug had caught hold of him for the time being would be out of his hair by the morn, after a good sleep. Yes, that was it. He needed to rest more.

With a decisive nod to himself, he slid back under the covers, a shiver passing down his spine as the fever pulsed lightly still, though he firmly ignored it in favor of burrowing beneath the covers, focusing on falling back asleep.

Sleep, however, was not inclined to take pity on him that night.

At around half past three, he gave up. He'd have to call in sick tomorrow (well, technically it was _today_ , but Draco didn't want to remind himself of it). His vial of Dreamless Sleep had been emptied, but to no use. The sheets were tangled and sweaty, his throat was dry, and he was burning up. Draco had tried every trick he knew of by that point, but not one seemed to work. He'd counted two thousand five hundred and thirty-six sheep, lied in the same position for over half an hour, read the most boring book he had (Commentaries on the Laws of England) and soaked in ice cold water in an attempt to get his body temperature down, which actually had had an effect on his fever, and no longer made him feel like he was locked inside a furnace. Unfortunately, his usual stock of Pepper-Up potions had been given to Madame Pomfrey the week prior, after all the fifth-year Gryffindoors and Slytherins had gotten a cold as the result of a dare given by a sixth year Ravenclaw, who wondered which house would be able to stay in the Great Lake the longest. Because of course the two houses haven't changed one bit since Draco's time at Hogwarts. Ever since he offered her to supply the Hospital Wing with potions, he'd had to brew all sorts of things. He was not in the mood for brewing now however, seeing as it required a large amount of focus and patience he did not currently possess. So instead of heading to his lab, Draco went to the living room, and sat down by the piano. As he began to play, he could feel some of the tension in his muscles leave, and the aches he'd felt didn't feel so present anymore.

His parents had taught him how to play several instruments (the one muggle thing they openly appreciated, however Draco knew of his father's affection towards their hair products, and his mother's love for muggle designers), but his favourite had always been the piano. When Draco was twelve, his parents had gifted him his own grand piano, which Draco still considered his most precious possession. Sometimes, he would play for hours on end, play piece after piece, and pour all his emotions out through the music. His repertoire included pieces by Chopin, Mozart, Stravinsky and Rachmaninoff, and he'd even composed a piece himself. Potions was his passion, but music was his love.

Draco fondly remembered his childhood. He remembered his mother playing chase with him in the vast gardens, her carefree laugh ringing around him. He remembered his father bringing him out to pet the white peacocks that would strut around the grounds. How his father would sneak him extra chocolate at the dinner table even when his mother said no more. He remembered how she always leveled Lucius with a hard glare and he'd shrug helplessly. He remembered finding his mother's secret stash of Muggle design magazines and chuckling when she tried to pass it off as something she'd purchased for the elves, so they wouldn't get too terribly bored when they weren't needed. Draco had had a lovely childhood really, until..Well. He preferred not to think about that part of his life. It was behind him now, and that's where he firmly decided to leave it. After playing away his blues, he felt calm enough to return to bed, confident he could manage at least an hour or two of sleep.

When morning came, Draco was feeling a little better, but the fever had intensified. His stomach was in knots, making him feel sick and jittery. He had a long shower that eased the little stitches and tremors that clung to his muscles somewhat. The morning wood he'd woken up with was a matter tackled in said shower, but for some reason, it took a lot longer time to be rid of for some reason. Draco wasn't inclined to think about why that was and brewed himself some tea. He mentally ticked off everything he needed to do that morning, glad to have something to busy himself with as he finished his tea. He called in sick to Robards, and firecalled Potter to let him know too. It was a silly Auror procedure in his opinion, to notify your partner you won't be coming in as well as officially calling in sick. Potter answered the call looking as if he'd just dragged his arse out of bed. Which is probably exactly what happened. If there was one thing Draco knew for certain about the prat, it's that he was _not_ a morning person. Potter had his glasses on sideways, his hair stuck up at odd angles, curling around his face in the strangest of manners and he was shirtless as he scrambled to gain a semblance of dignity.

"Malfoy? The hell you want this early in the morning?" Potter's voice was still thick from sleep. Deep and croaky. The whole picture was...Well, Draco didn't know _what_ it was, but it was doing _something_ to his head.

"I'm sick Potter, I won't be coming in today. Had to let you know." Draco drawled, working hard to rid himself of the unsavory thoughts that assaulted his mind.

"Oh, right. Are you okay?" Potter bit his lip as he peered at Draco through his fireplace. He looked genuinely concerned, and the knots in Draco's stomach tightened.

"I'll be fine." Draco waved him off, swallowing around a remarkably dry throat.

"You sure? Need something? I can come over if--" Potter started and Draco felt his hackles rising:

"No, no need Potter, I'm _fine._ " He snipped, cutting him off. It was rude, Draco knew, but the longer he was subjected to a shirtless, sleepy Potter the more his fever seemed to hitch up and he was not best pleased.

"Ok, ok, Merlin. Well, get better soon Malfoy, and come back to work quickly. You know I'm utterly useless without you." Potter chuckled, mouth curling up on one side of his face. Draco couldn't help but slip a smile of his own before ending the call and sitting back in front of the fireplace.

The fever had risen, and the ache of his lower back tightened further, all of which really made Draco thoroughly annoyed. He rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply, trying to clear his head at least a little bit. He figured that if one person would know how to deal with a sick Draco, it would be his mother. He called her next.

"Draco, darling! You haven't called in _ages_!" Narcissa beamed at him, and Draco didn't miss the undertone of worry.

"I apologize about that mother, life's busy." He tried to excuse, though he was well aware little was considered a valid excuse in his mother's eyes.

"Yes, yes I'm sure. How are you darling?" She waved his lame explanation off just like he'd known she would.

"I'm not feeling too well, I've called for some advice actually." Draco explained the strange fever and sickness, the twinges in his muscles and everything else that befell him. She listened patiently, her eyes dawning in understanding when his tale came to a close.

"Well darling, I must say your father is much better suited to help you than I am. Lucius! Come here!" She leaned away to call for his dad, and Draco's brow furrowed. He wouldn't expect his father to know how to deal with illness, usually it was always his mother that sat by Draco's bedside when he was sick as a child. His father popped in a moment later and Draco explained everything again.

"Ah, well Draco...I'm fairly certain I know what it is you'll be dealing with for the next little bit." Lucius spoke, clearing his throat.

"You do? What is it?" Draco ran a hand through his hair. At least he'd get to the bottom of this. Lucius, however, seemed hesitant. He cleared his throat again, and opened and closed his mouth a few times to no avail. Draco had never seen his father so lost for words before, he didn't know what to make of it.

"Son. You are aware of your.. _heritage_ right?" His father finally asked, and Draco had to admit he hadn't the slightest clue. He mostly dozed through those long, boring lessons about his ancestors and the like.

"I'm not." He admitted quietly, suddenly wishing he'd paid more attention back then. Lucius nodded and sighed deeply. Narcissa had a hand clasping his, while she sat silent by his side. It was a strange bond his parents shared, Draco mused. It wasn't of a romantic nature at all, their marriage having been arranged and all. Their care for one another was borne of a long time spent together, weathering many obstacles and raising a son together. It had always been more of a friendly sort of affection, more akin to one siblings might share rather than spouses. In all his life, his parents hadn't kissed once or done anything a married couple might. Draco bit down on a smile as he mulled that that was likely in large part due to the fact his father's affections lay with someone else entirely. His thoughts were cut off when his father began speaking again, his voice somber.

He explained about the Omega genome that his family had harbored for generations, and how both him and Draco shared it. He explained what it meant to be an Omega, and to say Draco was surprised, would be an understatement. He hadn't a single thread of an idea this was a part of his family!

"What's happening to you right now, son, is..well.." A flush rose high on his father's cheeks, and Draco dreaded what he might say. "It's..it's like.." Lucius tried to explain again, but words failed him. He tugged on his long hair, and sighed heavily. It was with a start that Draco realized his father was _embarrassed_ to share this with Draco. "It happens to every Omega at a certain point and.." Lucius scoffed at himself and his face twisted into a bit of an amusing angry expression at himself. His mother seemed to have lost all patience with her husband, as she cut in with the flattest, driest voice ever uttered by a human being:

"You're going into heat Draco."

Draco blinked. He was...what? He turned back to his father with a dumbstruck expression on his face:

"Which means?" He prompted the man to explain, and Lucius did, although he barely looked at Draco while doing it:

"It means, ahh..you'll feel..uh, more, _amorous_ , and well...you'll need to find your mate to help you..err..through it. Engaging in..um.. _intercourse_ , is what I mean by that of course and err, if you don't know who your mate is then..er, you might have to.. _help yourself,_ ahem.."

And suddenly, Draco completely sympathized with his father's utter embarrassment and fluster. He was feeling quite a bit of it himself.

"It should be over in a matter of a few days, a week at most, and you'll be overall more sensitive to things such as smell and touch, especially if it happens to be your mate." His mother took over smoothly, sparing Lucius, for which he seemed eternally grateful. Draco turned to listen to her. "It should be noted that you might experience a loss of control should you come in too close contact with your mate, because your instincts and body will override your mind when you smell their scent, so be wary of that happening."

Draco nodded, not really able to say much, not really knowing what the hell there was to say.

"I hope you make it through this alright, darling. There's not much we can do for you unfortunately. It's no big deal though, don't be worried." She assured with a nod and his father cleared his throat again:

"Keeping yourself busy could help take your mind off it, so if it gets too much at any point, find something to do."

Narcissa smiled fondly:

"Your father took up origami folding when he was going through his first heat."

"Cissa!" Lucius gasped, aghast at what his wife just revealed. Draco couldn't help but laugh at this.

"The Manor was _littered_ with fish and flowers and tigers and bears, it was _ridiculous!"_ She kept going, unperturbed by her husband's mortification. "That was, until he discovered his mate." She conceded with a smile.

Draco laughed even harder when his father dropped his head into his hands, grumbling loudly. He really enjoyed that his parents retained a sense of humor after everything they'd been through.

"Alright, alright. So, this is nothing to worry about?" Draco asked finally after calming down from his fit of giggles.

"Precisely." His parents nodded, and they chatted for a few more minutes before ending the call. 

Draco got up from the floor and set about making himself some breakfast. He considered everything he'd just been told. He found he didn't much mind being an Omega, though he was a little cross he hadn't found his mate, because that meant he'd have to suffer through this by himself, and he'd much prefer having someone to _help_.

Well, nothing to be done for it now he supposed, and let the issue go for the time being.

~

Harry Potter was not a man who got easily distracted. Well, usually that was. He set his mind to task and didn't bitch about it. A normal day for him involved tons of paperwork (most of which his partner, Draco Malfoy completed, after a very unfortunate incident involving several case files being misplaced, and a very annoyed Malfoy who refused to speak to Harry for almost two days afterwards) and maybe a casual arrest or two. On the more exciting days, (which there unfortunately were not a lot of) they'd be tasked with following up leads on the larger and more complex cases. Today was not one of those. Because Draco had called in sick, Harry was stuck with going through tons of paperwork that was supposedly connected to the latest Potion smuggling case. Normally, Harry wouldn't question it, just do his job, but today he was feeling a bit strange (don't worry Harry, the doctor will see you now). He felt restless, kept shifting in his seat, couldn't seem to brush off the barely present itch just beneath his skin, constantly urging him to leave, go somewhere else, go _to_ someone else. Harry shook his head, trying hard to focus back to the task at hand. Unfortunately, the longer he stared at the words on the parchment, the more jumbled they became, until they were just a black smudge of ink in front of his squinting eyes. He stood and headed to the loos, figuring he'd feel better if he freshened up a bit.

As he sulked down the hall, his mind couldn't help but round back to Draco. He _never_ called in ill, even if he was on the brink of death by way of fever that had Harry worried _sick_. The dumb prat had come in flushed, feverish and weak, scowled at Harry who suggested he take the day off, and had to begrudgingly accept help when Robards called them into the field and Harry had absolutely put his foot down on how he was _not_ letting his sick self out there. Instead, Harry took him back to his and fussed over him for three days until he felt better. Harry smiled at the memory now, it was the moment Draco had started to thaw out of his icy demeanor a little. The fact of the matter was, Harry couldn't comprehend what kind of ailment had to befall him for him to deem worthy of calling in sick, and it really worried him. Draco _seemed_ fine enough on their call that morning, but his eyes were flickering and wide, dilated, he looked pale, which really had Harry in a twit.

He figured he could perhaps visit him on his lunch break, but he suspected Draco would get mad at him. He did turn Harry down when he'd offered to head over that morning. He didn't really like to be fussed over, had a _mean_ temper when provoked. Harry had learned the hard way just how much he didn't wish to be on the receiving end of it. It was during the one and only big fight they seemed to have had since starting to work in the force, and Draco had lost it on Harry completely. He'd sneered and snarled at _everything_ , starting with Harry's dead parents, over Hogwarts and Voldemort, and finally ending with his most recent failure where the fiend had gotten away. In all his years knowing Draco, Harry had never once been scared of him—except in that moment. He ended up making Harry cry with all of his poisonous jabs. Realizing Harry was sniffling, he snapped out of it and stood there for a moment, looking completely _horrified_ with himself. He apologizeda million times over then, begging for forgiveness, desperately attempting to convince Harry he hadn't meant any of it—All things Harry had known. He forgave him eventually, but Harry knew Draco felt horrible about it to this day. It was that occasion that had taught Harry that Draco Malfoy's temper was not to be trifled with. Heeding that mental warning, Harry decided against going to see him. If Draco said he was fine, then he was fine. Caught up in his thoughts as he was, he almost completely missed the loos. Harry shook his head to snap himself out of it, and idly scratched at his sensitive skin as he splashed some water on his face. It probably wasn't healthy—to always be so addled up thinking about someone else. He'd twigged a while back he'd probably do anything to protect Draco in the field if it came down to it, and was mildly disturbed to realize that he'd likely do it no matter the cost. Of course, Auror partners were _supposed_ to be willing to _die_ for the other, but this was something more visceral than that, though Harry couldn't tell what exactly.

This whole morning had been shit, and Harry scowled to himself as he made his way out and back to the offices. He'd fancied himself subtle, but all of his friends knew about his _obsession_ with Draco, though Harry loathed to call it that. It wasn't _that_ bad, though Dean and Seamus would disagree. Those two seemed to _live_ for the sole purpose of reminding Harry of it at least once a day. They loved teasing Harry about it whenever the little rally of Gryffindors went out for drinks, especially since (not by Harry's fault, of _course_ ) the topic of Draco Malfoy came up at _least_ twice in their outings. It had risen to particularly insufferable heights one time Harry had gotten three sheets to the wind and had declared Draco had a nice arse. The smug smirks and taunts he received after that incident almost rivaled those of the owner of said arse, and Draco Malfoy's smug smirks were a thing of legends, so you can imagine how bad it had gotten.

When it was _finally_ time for his lunch break, Harry left the office feeling very confused and wrong footed. His whole body was pulsing, stirring still, though Harry couldn't fathom why. He wasn't feverish, though he found he'd grown rather cold. The amount of work he'd gotten done wasn't even half of what he'd usually do. He just couldn't focus on anything it seemed. As he walked down the corridor to grab a cup of tea and a sandwich, something Draco always yelled at him about, _Honestly Potter you're an Auror, you're supposed to be taking care of your health,_ Draco claimed he only nagged Harry because he didn't want a lug for a partner, but Harry would like to believe he'd grown fond of him enough to worry, he heard Smith yelling after him:

"Hey Potter, where's your boyfriend? Did you two fight or something?"

Harry was struck by that question, and stopped in his tracks. He turned around and eyed Smith as if he'd suddenly grown three heads. What the hell was he blethering about?

"I don't _have_ a boyfriend Smith, who the hell are you talking about?" He replied, blinking owlishly.

"Malfoy, of course! That blonde prat never misses a day, I'd figure you'd know since you two are dating and all." Now it was Smith staring bewildered at Harry. Something hot was rising up the back of Harry's neck, but he firmly swallowed it down:

"Smith...me and Malfoy aren't _dating_." He politely informed, dropping his voice and stalking over to the other man, praying neither Dean nor Seamus were in the vicinity. If they heard this conversation...Harry shuddered at the thought.

"You... _aren't?"_ Smith was completely caught unaware by this fact it seemed. "But..." He trailed off, brows furrowing over his eyes.

"Yes?" Harry inquired, determinedly convincing himself it was just morbid curiosity, nothing else.

"But you two are so _close._ I just figured..." Zach shrugged, looking put out but ultimately placated.

"Well, you figured _wrong_. Draco wouldn't go for someone like me." Harry waved him off, and was about to turn away, when Smith's voice stopped him:

"Are you _sure_ about that?" (Smith, you're not John Cena)

Glancing over his shoulder, something knowing was glinting in his eyes but Harry couldn't decipher it:

"Yeah, I'm _positive_. M'not refined, posh enough for his tastes." He repeated slowly, more carefully this time, unnerved by that odd flicker.

"Are you _absolutely positive_ about it though?" Smith asked again, leaning forwards with interest. Harry felt his hackles rising:

" _Yes!_ Do you know something I don't? Why the hell are you asking me all of this?"

Zach shrugged yet again, lip curling into half a grin:

"No, nothing. Nothing at all Potter. _Nothing. At. All."_

So he knew _something_ then. Harry glared at him but gave it up and left him be. What the hell was Smith going on about? What did he think he knew about Draco that Harry might not? And how the hell was it pertinent to Harry's love life?

His body was still sensitive and shivery, and Harry fumbled through getting his tea, completely forgetting his sandwich, and gulping it down scalding hot, wincing at his poor tongue while hoping the hot tea would warm him up. It did not. This chill that seemed to settle in his very bones wouldn't shake, and Harry was considering calling in ill himself. Thinking about Draco didn't help matters any either, because all it seemed to do was shock a shiver down his spine, his muscles clenching momentarily when Draco's appearance popped into his mind. _Not_ thinking about Draco however, was proving particularly _impossible_ after that frankly disturbing encounter with Smith. Paired with worrying about whatever illness struck Draco, Harry found himself in a cruel loop of _constantly_ thinking about the blonde git. As a result of that insidious combination, Harry got even _less_ done the second half of the day, feeling as if time had deliberately slowed to a bloody _crawl_ just to spite him.

~

By 9pm Draco was fed up. He felt clammy and ill, and it'd only gotten worse as the day went by. His whole body was in shivers from the bloody fever that wasn't breaking, his muscles strained still, even his bones started aching with every move. He felt restless and utterly _useless_. One hour he'd fill with so much boundless energy, only to be depleted of every iota of it by the next. It was grating his nerves to the last. Still, the worst, or at least the most _embarrassing_ part, Draco found, was the fucking _singing._ Over the course of the day, Draco caught himself singing and humming songs he didn't remember ever hearing or having the faintest idea of the lyrics several times. Each time he caught himself, he'd grit his teeth and swear he wouldn't again, only to catch himself doing it once more half an hour later. To give himself something to do, take his mind off this fucking _heat_ , he took his closet in hand. He organized it and reorganized it, and really, short of color coding it, there was no more tidying he could do. Now he truly understood just _why_ his parents advised him to pick up a hobby during this time. After he gave his poor closet a break, his kitchen was next. Draco had never once had reason to clean his kitchen, as he was a horrible cook and didn't use it much, but there was no time like the present he supposed. Now however, Draco was standing in the middle of his newly cleaned-up kitchen and glaring at his refrigerator like it had just insulted him very deeply. The reason Draco was aggravated now, was because he was _hungry_ , and nothing in his fridge looked edible (everything in there was edible of course, but there was nothing in it currently that Draco wanted to eat). He felt the fierce need in his teeth to _bite_ something. Draco ventured an educated guess it would rather be bite _someone_ , but since that wasn't really an option, he figured he'd have to settle for what he could get. Finally, after rummaging through it for the enth time, he spotted a package of sausages. _Meat_. Perfect.

Two minutes later, Draco's mouth was stuffed with as many sausages as he was able to fit in it. He savagely bit into them, satisfying his petty irritation for a short while at least. He was so consumed that he didn't notice Pansy in the doorway. It wasn't until she snorted loudly that Draco finally looked up and saw her standing there. He scowled and flushed fiercely, stomach churning with the realization of what was to come. Before she could utter a single word, Draco swallowed his mouthful and snipped at her:

"Fuck off Pansy."

Pansy just chuckled harder and tossed her black hair over her shoulder, strutting over to him:

"I knew you were desperate for cock darling, but I had no idea you were so desperate as to stoop to... _that_." 

Draco groaned and dropped his head onto the table, ignoring her as she made to sit down. 

"What's happened to you?" She asked, sounding dreadfully bored and deceptively calm. Draco glanced up and waited for the punchline: "Potter asked after you. He really is a proper mess without you." 

And Draco's blood fucking _flared_. 

He took a deep breath, caught by surprise by this onslaught of burning _want_. Composing himself, he forced himself to sit up straight:

"Of _course_ he is. The hell did he want to know?"

Pansy cocked him an infuriatingly _knowing_ smirk, and Draco fought a blush rising on his cheeks:

"He told Granger that he would have come see you himself but he was pretty sure you would have clocked him in the face so he asked her to ask me to see what's up with you. He's worried."

Draco tried very hard to ignore the flames fanning through him.

"Well you can inform him I'm perfectly _fine._ " 

Pansy quirked an eyebrow and leaned forwards towards him. She brushed his unkept hair away from his forehead, but pulled her hand away as soon as it brushed his skin. A shocked gasp slipped past her lips:

" _Salazar_ , Draco! You're burning up! Fine my arse, what the hell is going on with you?!"

"It's complicated." He lamely murmured.

Draco gave her a quick explanation, and as usual, didn't sugarcoat a single thing. Once he was done she studied him silently for a moment, lips pursed. Then her lips spread into a wolfish grin and she started chuckling, before that chuckling grew into full-blown laughter.

"H-heat--Like a _dog_ \-- _Sweet Merlin---_ " She wheezed between giggles. Draco snarled at her, irritation peaking:

"Stop it Parkinson. I'm serious, _stop_. This is literally _killing_ me, and I don't need to be held responsible for your death as well."

" _Actually_ , he's your first cousin once removed."

"What the bloody hell Pansy you cow, now is not the time for puns!"

"It's _always_ time for puns darling."

"You lesbians always joke around. How's this for a joke? I've heard you talk about Granger's tits enough times."

Pansy smarted with a flushed scowl:

"Oh wow Draco, coming at me with _that_ now? How many years have I spent listening to _you_ rant about Potter, hm?"

"Fuck off Pansy. You know that's different."

"Is it now? _How_ exactly?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer her, then closed it. The bint had a fair point. She continued on with a _'thought so'_ smile on her face:

" _Anyways_ , your little _problem_ has a pretty easy solution."

"Which is?" Draco lifted his eyebrows, for a moment hoping she was onto something.

"Get a cock up your arse." She shrugged, not the least bit concerned by her crude words. Draco grimaced, but she was wholly unperturbed. "Potter's cock."

He smarted:

"Have you lost your _mind?"_

Pansy chuckled and cocked her head sideways:

"I'm not joking Draco. Have you _seen_ how he looks at you? How you look at him?"

Draco blinked. He most certainly did _not_ look at Potter in any special way.

"I don't--" He tried, but she waved him off:

"Mhm, _sure_. Anyways, listen, Blaise will be back in town in a couple of days. We spoke yesterday morning. He wants us to meet up."

"He hasn't given up on Weasley yet, has he?" Draco latched onto the subject change gratefully. Talking about Potter made him feel...well...

"Not at all. He's probably planning his next move as we speak." Pansy nodded.

"I always thought Weasley and Granger would end up together. They always did seem so _disgustingly_ happy together."

"They never actually dated. Believe it or not, Weasley was actually jealous of Granger, not Krum, at the Yule Ball."

"Really? Wow. Well, that's new. So Weasley actually wanted to go to the ball with...."

"Krum, yes. Just like you wanted to go with Potter but took me instead." She sounded way too casual, an uptick to her lips betraying her.

_Bloody hell._

"First of all, I did _not_ wish to go the Ball with Potter, he can not dance for his _life_. Second of all, can we please just _stop_ talking about him, it's _irritating_. Third of all, I must say I'm genuinely surprised that Weasley's not as straight as a pole, he always struck me as such a prude."

"I don't know exactly how straight he is, but you're definitely gayer, so don't worry." Pansy assured him, patting his cheek sympathetically. "You're far too tense darling." She noted then, stood and made her way round the table to him, gripping his shoulders and pressing the balls of her palms into them, moving in slow circles. Draco groaned in bliss and _melted_ under her massage. He was wrought so tight through this day, that was _exactly_ what he needed. Pansy smiled down at him and continued her ministrations until he was practically falling asleep on the chair. 

"Come now. Off to bed with you, you lump." She chided, hoisting him up and half dragging, half carrying him to his bedroom, gently laying him down and tucking him in just like his mother used to do when he was little. Draco mustered up a weak smile. Pansy wasn't much of a affectionate person, but she had her mellow moments, it was absolutely heartwarming.

She left after settling him in, and Draco dozed off, getting a few hours of a wonderfully blank sleep, before he started to _dream._

~


End file.
